A/N: Still needing to take it slow. I'm nearing the end, the chapters are being a pain, and it seems that I have some sort of ear infection. Though the infection or whatever it is is being handled, it's still making it so that I can't handle being on the computer for too long. Stupid equilibrium. And along with this story, I am writing several others – some non-fan-fiction related – so it's been a juggle of which to write and when.
Ch. 15
Old Foe
Rodney awoke with a start, coughing and sputtering out the ice water trickling into his mouth and down the wrong pipe. Cold like fingers of ice traced down his face, neck, and into his collar. He gasped in air several times like a choking fish, and snorted it out his nose, wondering distantly why he'd decided to take a swim.
Then he opened his eyes, flicking water from his eyelashes through rapid blinks, and jolted at reality bulldozing its way into his awareness. He was in a room, dimly lit, smelling strongly of mold, wood rot, and standing water, and he was sitting in a rickety chair that whined if he so much as twitched. Standing over him with an empty cup in one hand was a tall, lean, crop-haired young man in a heavy coat, regarding McKay like a bored cat will regard a mouse, deciding whether or not to eat it or play with it some more.
Had Rodney been at his full mental capacity, he would have been demanding to know what he was doing here, why he was taken and what was going on. All he could manage was a blank look and a croaky, " Huh? Wha...?"
The monosyllabic response was a mistake. The man snapped from his incessant staring, eyes flaming with rage and face contorted with the same. He launched forward, grabbed McKay by the lapels of his pretend uniform, hauled him from the chair and slammed him against the wall.
" Where's Caul?" the man practically roared.
Again, all McKay could utter was more single syllables. " What? Caul? Huh?"
The man pulled McKay away, then slammed him again, harder, shoving the breath from Rodney's lungs. " Don't play stupid, Lantean! I know who you are, I know why you're here, and I know Caul's with you. I saw him."
Rodney lifted his arm to wipe drops of water from his eyes. " And you didn't have the capacity of thought to grab him instead of me?"
Bad choice of words and bad timing. Rodney had time enough to cringe with the realization before the man threw Rodney to the floor, then slugged him with a hard right to his face. Rodney's head snapped back with a crack on the wooden floor. Lights like pulsing fireworks blinked in his vision to the tempo of his throbbing nose and skull. He brought his hands up, covering his nose with a groan, and felt warm sticky liquid pool along the heel of his palms.
" I think you broke my nose," Rodney moaned.
" That's not all I'm going to break if you don't tell me where Caul is." The man gave Rodney one massive, vicious kick to his ribs, and Rodney was once again bereft of breath. The man kicked again. " Tell me! Tell me where you're hold up!" He kicked again. " Tell me where he can be found!" And again. " Now!"
Rodney was desperate to explain the futility of demanding answers while depriving the one being questioned of air to speak. His abuser bent and grabbed him by the collar again, tugging him to his feet, swinging him around, then shoving him back into the chair. Rodney and the chair went tumbling backwards, then over eachother, the old chair collapsing under Rodney's body. Sharp, burning pain ripped through Rodney's stomach. Instinct guided his hands to the source of the pain, and the nerves of his hand registered liquid warmth and something hard and foreign protruding from his gut.
Rodney knew better than to look down, fought not to look down, even snatched his hand away in hopes of being able to ignore that there was something currently in him that wasn't supposed to be. But fear always took a back seat to morbid fascination, even for McKay. His eyes moved of their own accord it seemed, then his head with him, to see blood soaking his uniform around the right side of his upper abdomen. The cause was a finger-width sliver of wood now buried in his gut.
" Are you going to tell me, now?"
Rodney pulled his wide-eyed and horror stricken gaze from his newly acquired and very life-threatening wound to the his tormentor. The man was back to towering over him, with hands loose at his sides ready for another grab or hit, and an expression that said the man didn't give a damn if Rodney bled out or not.
Rodney was in a hell of a lot more trouble than he thought possible, and within only two minutes time. That had to be a record.
Oh, crap, I'm delirious. And cold, probably going into shock...
Rodney opened his mouth, gaping like a baby bird waiting for momma to drop the worm in. He made a small, pathetic croaking sound, but had no idea what the hell to say. He could hand Caul over on a silver platter, but Rodney's immediate impression of this man was that he was still going to kill him no matter the cooperation.
Then came a loud bang, followed by a crash of wood from the door flying open and hitting the wall, splinters raining down everywhere. Rodney's abuser reached for the small projectile at his waist at the same time a flash of light hit him full in the chest. The man crumpled to the ground with a thud. Rodney, panting and sufficiently panicked, looked from his tormentor to the door, and Ronon's bulk blocking most of the outdoor light. Ronon holstered his weapon and stepped into the small room to crouch beside Rodney.
Rodney's breathing increased rather than decreased. " You came, you found me, you shot him, you came..." Rodney furrowed his brow. " What took you so long?"
Ronon's attention was fixed on Rodney's wound. The Satedan pulled a field dressing out of the pocket of his uniform jacket, and carefully wound it around the splint to keep it immobile. " Saw the guy dragging you off, tried to follow but couldn't get out of the bar fast enough and ended up losing him."
" That still doesn't answer my question..." Rodney hissed when Ronon lifted the Physicist's back enough to get the dressing under him.
" I asked," was Ronon's reply. " Some guy hauling around an unconscious off-worlder isn't something you miss real easy."
" Is he all right?" another voice said from the door. Rodney turned his head to see Caul standing in the entry-way, regarding Rodney with a pale face and slightly slack jaw.
" No. He needs medical help." Ronon glanced over his shoulder. " Think you could make it back to the inn all right? We're not that far."
Caul nodded, pointing at McKay's unconscious abuser. " So long as he's out of the story, then yeah."
" Who is he?" McKay asked, his voice higher pitched than he would have liked, but Ronon's ministrations were really hurting like hell.
" Mical, the man behind your Sheppard's kidnapping."
Ronon's head snapped up like a dog catching the scent, and his suddenly feral gaze locked onto Mical like a missile targeting system.
" Uh, Ronon," Rodney gasped. " You can satisfy breaking every bone in the man's body later. I'd, uh... really appreciate it if I didn't bleed out any time soon."
Either Ronon wasn't listening or... Well, Rodney couldn't think what else it could be, and felt insulted when Ronon rose and went over to the man. Ronon crouched beside him, then with the speed that would make a professional calf-roper jealous, bound the man by his ankles and wrists, with hands behind his back, using rope produced out of the second pocket of Ronon's jacket. The former runner was a perpetual human Swiss army knife. When done, he went back to Rodney's side, but looked at Caul.
" If you can remember where to find this place, take Lorne here. He can deal with this guy."
Caul jerked a thumb over his shoulder. " There's a healing facility nearby..."
Ronon shook his shaggy head. " No need. I know a better place. Now go before anyone gets interested in what's going on here."
Caul hesitated, then gave a curt nod and took off. When he was gone, Ronon tapped the radio at his ear.
" Daedalus? Ronon. Got a medical emergency here."
There was a crackle, followed by an accented voice. " Beckett here. What's the nature?"
" Rodney's hurt. Bad." And enough said. Rodney could never express in words his appreciation for the Satedan's succinct nature. He would have hugged the big guy if he knew it wouldn't have hurt so much, or that it would have looked completely unmanly and a little insane.
There was a flash of light moments after the brief verbal exchange, and the next thing Rodney knew, he was lying on the floor of the Daedalus' infirmary. Beckett's face moved into Rodney's range of vision, hovering and concerned, but all voodoo business.
" Aye, this looks a wee bit nasty. You did a good job immobilizing it though, Ronon." Carson leaned in closer to Rodney's face. " All right, lad, we're goin' to be taking good care of ya now..."
Hands were all over Rodney, lifting him off the floor enough to get a board under him. " Just get this twig out of me then you can ditch your oath and smack me around for all I care. Just don't give it time to infect me. The chair that stabbed me looked old enough to be my great grandmother's, and I'm pretty sure there was mold on it."
They lifted the board and transported Rodney to the nearest bed. " And Ronon... Get back on that planet. This isn't a setback, just one less person doing the searching just until Carson closes this hole." The indignity of being undressed through the use of scissors commenced, but it was white noise in comparison to the bigger picture. Caldwell was not going to use this situation as an excuse to turn the Daedalus around and haul ass out of this solar system.
" Rodney, this isn't going to be as simple as closing the wound and sending you on your merry way," Carson said as he filled a syringe full of what Rodney could only hope was painkillers, because between antibiotics and painkillers, he really wanted the painkillers first. " Depending on how deep this 'twig' penetrated, you may not be able to go anywhere for a while."
A sheet was pulled up to cover Rodney below the penetration point, then his pants were removed. Rodney flinched but was too busy being pissed about other matters to really care. " Look, Carson, I can't do this. I mean I can get healed... But I can't sit back and relax in a hospital bed with the bed next to me empty of the guy I got injured looking for! I can't... I just... I'm leaving him behind Carson!"
Carson injected his little concoction into Rodney's arm. " Leaving someone behind is a voluntary action, son," the Scottish doctor said. " And you're fightin' it every step of the way, so I highly doubt this would be called leaving him behind. And you know as well as I do that Colonel Sheppard would chew me up and spit me out if I let you go back to that planet before you were recovered. Then he would finish you off as dessert. And he'd never forgive himself - himself – if you ended up dyin' tryin' to save him. You can berate him all you want about that little quirk of his but you know he's never gonna change, so do him the favor of not dyin' on him. It'll be just as good as though you were the one lookin' for him."
Damn Carson and his impeccable logic. Rodney wanted to argue his stubborn but pointless resolve further, but for once in his life was stumped as to what words to use that would sound more convincing than what Carson had just said.
Carson also didn't give him the chance.
" Listen, Rodney, I canna argue with you on this anymore. We need to get you into surgery and get that splinter out. I'm sorry, but as of right now, you're off the search."
Rodney's jaw dropped. Of course he was off the search at that moment what with a mini-vampire stake poking at his stomach, yet hearing the vocal confirmation that he could no longer help in finding Sheppard was one step below being told that the mission was off, Sheppard was screwed, and they were going home. Rodney didn't need to be with the search team, his presence wasn't making any difference, he would admit to it. Results, however, weren't the point. Being physically a part of the solution, walking over the same soil and muck Sheppard was probably walking over, was the point. Sheppard was there, so Rodney had to be there. He was part of Sheppard's team, for crying out loud, he was supposed to go where Sheppard went.
Rodney rolled his eyes. He was making himself out to be some kind of overly loyal dog.
Still, he wasn't going to relax and let up until Sheppard was where Rodney was – walking on metal floors, and safe.
SGA
John opened his eyes to darkness interrupted by three bars of fading red light marking the position of the small wood-burning stove. He'd felt movement at his side, and stared into the darkness until his eyes adjusted to form shapes.
Ris' shape was at the window, stretched his full length to have his claw-tips on the sill. He was clucking, chirping, and clacking his jaws.
" Ris," John croaked. He reached out to flop his hand onto Ris' back. The little lizard didn't notice.
A howl, long and deep, like the drawn out blare of a tuba, rose in crescendo until the windows rattled. John, without being fully aware of what he was doing, pushed himself stiffly upright against the discomfort of sore arms and a fickle rib. The howl continued to rise, and the window shake, though he could have sworn the source was somewhere off into the distance, miles away. It sounded like it should be miles away.
Instead of descending back down, the howl simply faded away, hitting the peak of its pitch to end abruptly, leaving behind a single, trailing echo. Ris hissed, and it wasn't good when Ris hissed. John leaned forward as far as the bandage around his chest would let him.
" What is it?" he asked, just to be asking, to hear something other than the sudden silence. He peered out the window into impenetrable darkness offset only by the faint jagged outline of the trees against a lesser dark sky.
Ris, however, seemingly satisfied that his hissing had actually accomplished something, shrank back from the window, circled, and curled up tight against John's hip. John sat back and snorted. " Some watch dog you are." He then squirmed back beneath the covers, tugging them up to his chin. One hand he kept holding the blankets, the other he slipped under the pillow to touch his fingertips to the grip of his 9-mil.
SGA
A:N/ I apologize for any mistakes in this story. We'd been at the State fair all day, and since this was a shorter chapter I wanted to check it and get it up as soon as possible. I usually like to give the chapters two perusals before posting.
